


Sehnsucht

by dustyfluorescent



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Dubious Consent, Infidelity, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-10
Updated: 2012-07-10
Packaged: 2017-11-09 14:20:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustyfluorescent/pseuds/dustyfluorescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are times when Merlin can't remember what he loves about Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sehnsucht

**Author's Note:**

> _sehnsucht_  
>  (n.) "the inconsolable longing in the human heart for we know not what"; a yearning for a far, familiar, non-earthly land one can identify as one's home ([x](http://other-wordly.tumblr.com/post/25960987469/other-wordly-pronunciation-zen-zukt))
> 
>  ~~Shopping list~~ Warnings: irresponsible sexual behaviour, alcohol abuse, dub-con, several non-explicit kinks (e.g. painplay, bondage, watersports, threesome, spanking)

The wild, roaring river runs next to them, and Merlin's wet shirt clings to his back, but he doesn't notice. The sun has long since gone down, but he doesn't even realise how cold he is. This is the most terrifying moment of his life, the biggest mistake he's ever made. He holds on to Arthur's limp body, cradling it in his arms, his magic frantically searching for something to hold on to, anything to prove that his King is still alive, but there is nothing he wants to find left there anymore. Just the blood in his hands, the terrified, bewildered look frozen on Arthur's face. His eyes, dead, cold, _nothing_ \- and he thinks no, this can't be over, I won't let it be over, not like this. **No.** And his magic bursts out of him, blinding, deafening power, and he feels like he's a child again because he doesn't know what to do with it, and like a wild animal it kicks him down and everything is white and blood red and in the back of his skull, the Dragon roars -

Merlin wakes up with a gasp. Another dream. He's crying, he can't quite breathe. His heart feels cold and heavy, beating way too fast. He's scared, and he's alone, and there is something he should realise but it's slipping away, too far gone. Something - _something_ he was dreaming of, and it's probably important, too, like the most terrifying moment of his life, like the worst mistake-

When he finally manages to pull himself back to this world, he can't remember a single thing about his dream. He never does. But it's bad, it always is. He feels like he needs to throw up. 

It's way too early, but Merlin knows he won't be able to sleep anymore. With trembling fingers, he lights a cigarette in the pale morning light. He glances at the man lying next to him, breathing softly, face buried in a pillow, his golden hair sticking in every direction. Beautiful, he can't help but think. Why must he be so beautiful, how come I still love him so much after all this time? Why do I stay here, watching him sleep, just to be reminded how much this hurts? He doesn't know, though, what else he should be looking for.

They could have had so much more, Arthur and him. What they now have is nothing but a mocking imitation of what Merlin used to dream of, and even those dreams were but the shadow of something greater he can't name; so close, but not enough. Merlin keeps asking himself questions that don't matter, and really only serve to bring him more pain. _How did I end up here_. Yes, how did you. Of all the lives you could have lived, this is the one you ended up with, and how. 

It's a cold morning, he tells himself, that's why he's shivering. He swallows, pulling his blankets closer. He's going to get ashes on the bed, but he doesn't care. It's Arthur's bed anyway, and he deserves it. Merlin stares at the ceiling, and takes a deep breath. The air in the room is stuffy and used. It smells like a night of sex, of alcohol and cigarettes. Fighting. Giving up. Losing it. _Oh, God._

Arthur slowly wakes up, gets up on one elbow, and glares at him. Merlin just smiles. Arthur's still sleepy, and it's adorable. He's pouting, grumpy as he always is before he gets his cup of coffee (or a blowjob, whichever comes first).

"You know I don't like it when you smoke."

"I really don't care."

"It's my bed, Merlin. My _house_."

Merlin shrugs and grins. He likes smoking in bed. Arthur likes him in his bed. One of them is going to have to adjust, and it's not Merlin, that's for sure. Arthur rolls his eyes and then yawns, running his hand through his messy hair. He gets up from under the sheets. His cock is half-hard.

"I'm going to take a shower. You coming?"

 _You had better, I'm horny_ , says the tone of his voice, the way he looks at him. Merlin sighs. He's still sore from last night, he's got bruises all sorts covering his neck and back and hips - Arthur can be _such_ a teenager sometimes - and he's got Arthur's dried come stuck in his hair, on his back, God knows where. He feels a bit hung over, and extremely nicotine deprived. He's not sure when he last had something to eat - he sometimes forgets that he needs food to stay alive, and Arthur's dinner invites rarely have much anything to do with actually having dinner. Simply put, Merlin's not in the mood. He's tired and hungry, and he feels dirty and worn and used. He wants to finish his fag in peace, take a shower, eat a decent meal and down three cups of coffee, go back to sleep, whatever. He doesn't want to be with Arthur. 

Merlin rolls his rigid shoulders, and deliberately flicks ash on Arthur's pillow. The prat. 

"All right, fine," he says. "Give us a second, would you. And I want breakfast after."

"Broke again?"

Merlin smiles.

"Of course."

Arthur laughs, but he doesn't sound amused. He stalks to the bathroom, leaving the door open behind him. Merlin can hear him turn the shower on. He finishes his cigarette and follows Arthur under the hot spray of water.

"I think getting your spunk out of my hair is your responsibility," Merlin mutters. Arthur's hand is on his cock before he can finish the sentence.

"I wanna buy you something pretty," Arthur mumbles against his neck.

"Okay."

"I love you."

Merlin says nothing. 

***

Merlin does get to grab a quick bite in Arthur's kitchen before Arthur regains normal brain function and throws him out. He's still hungry, though, there's rarely anything to eat at Gwaine's. He only has twenty quid in his pocket, and he plans to spend that on bare necessities like booze, fags, and a new sketchbook.

Arthur's generally not too keen on having to tolerate Merlin in his close proximity after he's had his fun with him. _You're annoying,_ he says sometimes, _don't you ever shut up?_ Sometimes it's Merlin's ugly face that Arthur can't bear to look at anymore, sometimes it's _get out, whore, you're not my fucking boyfriend_. Merlin doesn't mind, not really, not much. He knows that Arthur loves him, really. He always calls, meet me for a pint, let's have dinner at mine. It always means come quick, bring lube, I want to fuck you. When Arthur calls Merlin, it's because he's horny or drunk, has had a bad day at work, has met his dad and needs to take it out on somebody. Needs to deal with his big secret gay feelings, and knows that Merlin won't tell. 

They used to be best friends. It was a long time ago. Arthur was always too much but never quite enough. He was far more important to Merlin than any person should be to someone else; a familiarity in a world that seemed foreign. (It's impossible to explain, and Merlin has never really understood it. He only knows how he feels, how he felt then, how he's felt for as long as he can remember.) Merlin doesn't really like to think about what they used to have because he misses it, and wallowing in the past doesn't help, he's learnt that much. They're anything but friends now, and it's Merlin who messed it up. He fell in love with Arthur, and decided that all his problems would go away if he just came clean about his feelings because he was young, stupid, and idealistic; because he believed that trust and friendship would conquer all. It didn't work. Arthur did not take it well, and Merlin won't ever forget what he said, the way he said it, like he didn't even care. _You can't be gay, Merlin. I don't have gay friends._

It turned out that Merlin was indeed gay, but it was also true that Arthur's friends never were. And when you're in Arthur Pendragon's bad books, nobody else wants to be your friend, either. 

That's basically what Merlin's time in college was all about. He and Arthur didn't talk, and hating Merlin Emrys was an unwritten rule at school. Merlin started an unhealthy relationship with an older bloke called Gwaine, and fucked strangers on the side to keep things interesting. It was fine because so did Gwaine, and if either didn't like it, it was never said out loud. Merlin stopped caring about basically everything except his art. He did horribly at all his A-levels.

Merlin didn't go to Uni. Instead, he got a job at McDonald's to keep himself alive. It's safe to say that a steady job (that he hated with a passion) wasn't really his thing. In less than two months, he got fired after locking himself in Gwaine's flat with three bottles of whiskey and six packs of cigarettes to paint a historical sci-fi porn battle scene on the bedroom walls, hence skipping three days of work, and then showing up two hours late for his shift, completely rat-arsed. Merlin and Gwaine celebrated the occasion by getting hammered in a conveniently located pub, fucking bare in the toilets, and picking a fight with a bunch of skinheads sitting in a corner table, minding their own business but "looking annoying", as Gwaine explained it to the furious landlord. 

Merlin ended up with a black eye and a split lip, and when they got home, the bruises on Gwaine's ribs inspired Merlin to tie him up, paint on him with different colours of candle wax, suck him off, come on his face, and take pictures. Then he straddled Gwaine's hips and, while listening to Nirvana and singing along, smoked eight cigarettes in a row, using Gwaine's body to stub each one out, dreaming of doing the same to Arthur. Gwaine kicked and screamed and cried, and biting his lip, asked for more. 

Merlin didn't get another job. Not a proper one, anyway.

There was nothing healthy about what was going on between the two of them, but Merlin didn't care. It was distracting enough, and he was painting like never before. He was on a constant high of wild, unbridled creativity, and it was _amazing_. He didn't need drugs, because he always saw the world as a glorious, mad, impossible, _genius_ explosion of art; intriguing, impossible, inspiring, wherever he looked. He didn't need drugs, because nothing would ever any sense to him anyway, and he certainly didn't need to make it worse. 

Losing Arthur had definitely done something to the way Merlin saw the world, but it had always been a bit like that for him. It was dizzying, sometimes, how nothing was ever quite the way it should have been, so he'd take a pencil in his hand and try to make sense of it all. The world would shift and change around him, and he'd watch it dance. He'd sit in a boring park with his sketchpad and a pencil, watch the dogs and schoolkids and tourists and lovers pass him by in a mundane everyday haze, and his hand would sketch dragons and magical beasts, wonderful castles and far-off lands, deep seas and vast forests, kings leading troops to battle, waving flags and blood and darkness; magic, wonder, beauty. 

He'd wake up, full of longing he couldn't quite place, and wonder how his life turned out like this, and then he'd remember that it had never been anything else. He wouldn't think about that, because it was frightening. Because it made him sad. But whatever it was that was that was gnawing at his heart never went away.

Merlin missed Arthur and fucked Gwaine and painted the beautiful things he saw that stayed secret from everyone else, and it was all fine, really, until nothing was anymore. Until Arthur called him and asked him to come over for dinner, _I think it's about time we talked_ , only to skip the formalities and fuck Merlin against the front door instead, frantic, rough, _so good_. 

Merlin figured it would be best to refrain from asking any questions.

***

Merlin doesn't bother to knock before entering Gwaine's flat. He practically lives there, anyway, or at least he doesn't live anywhere else. 

"Hi, sweetie," Gwaine shouts from the kitchen. He's naked, and cooking bacon. That's nothing unusual. Gwaine is fond of bacon, and he doesn't usually bother putting on clothes if he doesn't need to leave the house. Why should you care, he once said, when Merlin asked about it. You like me better naked, anyway. And that's true, it's convenient, and Gwaine isn't bad to look at, either, so Merlin doesn't care. Instead, he wraps his arms around Gwaine, presses his groin against the swell of his arse, and bites his neck.

"Don't burn yourself," Merlin mutters as a way of greeting.

"You'll get me to a cold shower if I do."

"Yeah, I will. I'm great like that."

Gwaine smirks and turns off the stove.

"Want some?"

"Yes, please. I'm starving."

"Shag after?"

"Ugh."

Gwaine turns around to face him, pouting. "Are you saying I'm fat?"

"I'm saying Arthur's a right bastard. I feel like I've been run over by a pack of koalas."

"How does that even work? Besides, I know you like it."

Merlin shrugs, and bats away Gwaine's hand further away from his crotch. "I do. I just need a nap first."

"That's fine. Can I watch you while you sleep and have a wank? I'm horny and bored."

"Sure, dear, go right ahead."

***

"What am I doing?" Merlin asks Gwaine later that night. "What are we doing, where am I going - oh _God _\- what is my life?"__

Sobbing, Gwaine closes his eyes and turns his head away. He's long past using words by now. Merlin bites him and growls against his neck.

"I hate you," he whispers, but he manages to make it sound like a declaration of love. "I hate you so much."

And he grabs Gwaine's balls and carefully licks his straining cock, and Gwaine makes a sound like he's dying.

That night, Merlin doesn't sleep. Memories of his night horrors and unknown dreams keep him well awake. He doesn't want to close his eyes, because he's too scared of having to wake up to his own screams again. He'd rather stay awake, drinking coffee, smoking. Watching how dark and small Gwaine's flat is when it's night. Drawing Gwaine again and again, every part of him, every bruise, every angle. He's beautiful, and he looks young. And then Merlin thinks of Arthur, and it startles him, and he thinks, do I only keep hurting you because he keeps hurting me?

He draws Arthur dead, and it's too easy, it looks too real. He burns the picture, terrified, and spends the rest of the night slumped against the toilet seat, throwing up until there's nothing left in him but horror and unease. Then he drinks until he passes out. 

***

On any given day, Merlin's head is full of feverish thoughts and images that don't make sense. His heart bursts with something he can't place, and then there is Arthur.

Sometimes Arthur is an uncontrollable storm of emotion that leaves Merlin breathless and aching. Sometimes he's a force of nature; insatiable, desperate, violent, and very bossy, yet affectionate, almost tender in some weird, out of character way. 

Sometimes he isn't. Sometimes he's quiet, tense, hurried. Like he's ashamed of what he's doing, even when he's balls deep up Merlin's arse, and he stops, closes his eyes, swears under his breath. There are times when Arthur refuses to look at Merlin, refuses to touch him any more than necessary, leaves Merlin to take care of himself while he looks the other way, takes a shower, hides in the kitchen with a glass of water, a bottle of beer. Sometimes there is awkward conversation, sometimes there is silence so loud that it's ripping Merlin's eardrums in pieces. Sometimes Arthur kicks him out, sometimes they fight, sometimes Arthur just ignores him until he goes away. 

Sometimes it's good, and he stays. When Arthur falls asleep, Merlin makes himself coffee and stays awake, smoking, drawing Arthur over and over and over again. And then there are the times when Merlin burns the drawings and spits on the ashes.

There are times Merlin can't remember what he loves about Arthur. This is one of those times.

"How is your mother," Arthur asks when they're done. Or he is, at least. Merlin is lying in bed, tangled in the sheets, sweaty and panting, stroking his cock, smoking a cigarette. He ignores Arthur. He's not in a hurry, mostly because Arthur wants him to leave, and he's really very cross with Arthur right now. Arthur, who's sitting on the edge of the bed, looking anywhere but at Merlin, uneasy, ashamed. Same as ever.

Merlin comes with a grunt. He wipes his hand on Arthur's pillow and flicks his cigarette ashes on the carpet.

"Why would you bring up my mother when I'm trying to get off? You sick bastard."

"I just want to know how she is."

Merlin huffs out a breathless laugh. 

"My mother is dead."

"What?"

"I said, she's dead. Has been for three years now. She got cancer. Thanks for asking, though. It shows you care."

"God, Merlin, why do you always have to be... I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't. It's not like we're friends or anything."

"Oh, come off it, Emrys," Arthur snaps. "I was sixteen, I was a brat. You know that."

"I know. You haven't changed."

"How many times do I need to say I'm sorry?"

"Once would be a great start."

"What the fuck is your problem?"

"Well, you," Merlin huffs. He uses Arthur's fancy bedside table to stub out his cigarette. It's going to leave a mark. He smiles. Mahogany, whatever. Arthur glares at him.

"Stop acting like a little bitch."

"I'm not actually even lying, you know," he says, his tone of voice matter-of-fact. "You pretty much ruined my life."

"Stop trying to make me feel guilty about your utter failure as a human being. It's not working, and I don't care."

"I'm not surprised, considering you're emotionally stunted -"

"My emotional life is perfectly normal, thank you very much -"

"Yeah, sure is, you don't even care -"

"I've no idea what the fuck you're on about -"

"You would do, if you'd just _listen_ -"

"What? What the hell do you have to say to me?"

"Do I ever matter?" Merlin shouts, eyes stinging. "To anyone?"

Arthur looks him in the eye. 

"No," he says. "You don't. You're not my fucking boyfriend. If you're waiting for proposals and chocolates and flowers to happen, you can stop now. I get horny, and you never say no. I get bored, and you're a convenient distraction. That's all this is."

"Oh, I know _that_ , Arthur. I'm perfectly aware you need someone to distract yourself with. But I don't think _boredom_ is your problem, exactly."

"Be very careful, Merlin," Arthur grits out, looking like he wants nothing as much as to beat the living daylights out of him. 

Merlin knows he should quit while he's ahead, he should shut up and walk away, but he's had it up to here dealing with Arthur's bullshit. Three days ago, Arthur was _sobbing_ , telling Merlin how much he loves him, _oh God, your mouth, your_ mouth _, yes, there, Merlin, I love you so much, you have no idea, Jesus Christ_ , and now he's back to being nothing again and it hurts, and he shouldn't care anymore but he does. He doesn't want to shut up and it's stupid, because he doesn't want to lose his best friend again. It's stupid, because he shouldn't go around trying to provoke Arthur. It's stupid, because he should know how things are. But if there's one thing Merlin definitely is and always has been, it's stupid. 

"It's seriously pathetic that the only way you can keep pretending you're straight is to fuck a bloke on a regular basis."

And Merlin is expecting a fist in his face, a flying alarm clock, a book against his skull, even a bloody gun or just _something_ , anything but Arthur closing his eyes, his shoulders tensing, his face going white. Arthur takes a deep, shaky breath, and biting his lip to keep himself from crying. Merlin has seen him like this many times before. Merlin remembers, and it's like cold water in his lungs. 

Arthur is twelve, standing outside Merlin's apartment door, asking Merlin's mum in a broken voice if he could stay the night, is that okay. And then, in the safety of Merlin's room, he breaks into tears in his arms, unable to stop crying for hours, struggling to keep breathing. 

Merlin will never forget it. The first time Arthur's drunken father throws a plate, a glass, a frying pan at his only son, screaming he's a murderer and a bastard, screaming he wishes he had died instead of his mother, screaming _get out of my sight, get out of my house, get out of my life_. It is the first time, not the last.

For a second, Merlin wonders who took care of Arthur after he wasn't there to hold him anymore. He's pretty sure he knows the answer, and he doesn't like it. It makes him feel sick.

"Arthur," he whispers, horrified at how much Arthur looks like he did when he was twelve years old, and his world had just crumbled to pieces around him. "Arthur."

He doesn't know what else to say.

"Get out," Arthur growls, his whole body shaking, his eyes squeezed shut. "Get out of my house, you bastard whore."

He sounds so much like his father that Merlin just runs, and he doesn't stop to put on his shoes until he's two blocks away. It's then that he realises he's forgotten his jacket. 

***

Gwaine takes him out that night. They get plastered, and Gwaine, being the good friend he is, doesn't ask any questions. They hook up with a pretty twink with a fuckable mouth, and take him home with them. Because Gwaine always knows what he needs the most, they tie Merlin up, spank him for ages, and take turns fucking him until he's crying. Gwaine whispers in his ear what a horrid slut he's been, how badly he needs to be punished, and all Merlin can do is to say yes, yes, I've been so bad, stupid selfish whore, and he has never ever meant it more in his life. He kisses the twink goodbye, hot, deep, filthy, and whispers thank you in his ear, because the boy has no idea how much Merlin needed this.

It's a good distraction while it lasts, but not for much longer. Merlin sleeps for six hours, but not well. His dreams are ridden by nightmares he knows by heart, some of them real, some of them just waiting to happen, some of them just pure horror and nothing else, and then there are dragons who talk about destiny. When he wakes up, he smokes three cigarettes before getting out of bed. He takes a shower, washes off the stranger's come that's dried between his legs. A reminder that he let a guy he doesn't know fuck him bare. Again. He thinks about how he should stop doing that. He should get tested. He never does.

Merlin grabs a bottle of Jack, lights a cigarette, and sits down on their bed, looking at Gwaine who's still asleep, snoring lightly. When he's finished with his fag, he uses Gwaine's thigh to stub it out. Gwaine wakes up with a shout and sits up, glaring.

"Emrys, you fucking bastard."

Merlin flinches. "Don't call me that," he says, and he finds that he means it. "Don't ever call me that again."

"Jesus," Gwaine mutters. "Arthur's really done your head in this time, hasn't he."

Merlin takes a swig from his bottle, and says nothing. Gwaine strokes his ankle for a long time. Then he slowly lies down on his stomach, and starts licking Merlin's foot. He carefully kisses each toe, sucks on them like they're made of honey. Merlin grunts, and closes his eyes. Gwaine pulls away and nuzzles against the sole of Merlin's foot. 

"I love you," he says. "Let me suck your cock."

Merlin lets him.

He soon finds out that regular orgasms and torturing Gwaine are both spectacular ways of keeping his thoughts away from Arthur. If you're drunk, it works even better. Drinking more also keeps the hangover away, so it's all good. 

It's day three, Arthur hasn't called, and Merlin is still drunk, when he ties Gwaine to the bed, sucks his cock, and doesn't stop until he's come twice. He scratches at Gwaine's thighs, burns his arms with cigarettes, bites at his spent cock. He forces four bottles of beer down Gwaine's throat, and waits - watches porn, tosses himself off, shaves his pubes, smokes six cigarettes - forces Gwaine to piss himself, and then slaps him, spits on him, tells him he's a disgusting piece of shit. He strokes Gwaine's hair and kisses the tears off his face, works a plug up his arse and leaves it there. Gwaine grunts and swears; Merlin tells him he really needs to learn how to shut up, and stuffs a pair of dirty boxers in his mouth. He drops by the corner shop to get more booze and cigarettes, and when he comes home to a crying, trashing wreck of a man tied to his bed, struggling to breathe, he unties him, fucks him hard, bites and scratches at his neck and shoulders and arse, doesn't let him come, not yet, _not yet, love, you need to be patient_. And when Gwaine finally does get to come, fucking Merlin's mouth like his life depends on it, Merlin spits his spunk on his face and kisses him, _thank you, thank you, I love you, too_. 

When Gwaine falls asleep, too exhausted to clean himself up, whispering I hate you, I love you, fuck you, Merlin draws him. His hands are shaking and his tears smudge the ink, but it's beautiful, anyway. 

_I want to draw on your back. Something permanent. Something beautiful. Something like you._

***

After a week, Arthur calls again. He's been drinking.

"You wanna come 'round?"

"Bored again?" Merlin snaps, but he already knows he's going.

"Shut up, Merlin. I know you want to."

And fuck, he really does. His heart is heavy and his cock half-hard when he leaves Gwaine's flat that night, comfortably drunk as he's been for the most part of the week, a cigarette between his lips, carrying with him a few condoms, a pack of lube, and his sketchbook.

There is no biting or scratching or swearing or choking or hair-pulling that night. It's a lot less like the reality that Merlin is used to, and a bit more like something that he used to dream of when he was sixteen. Arthur gently kisses Merlin's neck and chest and knees and eyelids, wherever he can reach. He strokes Merlin's hair as he slowly rocks into him, and each trust is ripping Merlin open more violently than any hurried hate-fuck he's ever been a part of. When Arthur comes, he's crying, silent tears rolling down his cheeks and dropping onto Merlin's chest, and he's so beautiful that Merlin has to close his eyes. _There once was a boy who flew too close to the sun._

Afterwards, they lie quietly in each other's arms. Arthur's staring at him with glassy eyes, unseeing. He looks young, weak, broken. Merlin gently runs his fingers through Arthur's hair, over his cheekbones, his nose, the curve of his lips.

You are the love of my life, Merlin thinks, and then, this is too hard. Merlin knows Arthur loves him, but he won't ever accept it. He knows him well enough by now. They used to be inseparable, and they will never be able to pretend those times didn't happen, but it doesn't mean Arthur can't pretend Merlin doesn't matter.

He smiles, sad, tired, at the only true love he's ever had, who's looking right through him, unseeing. It's the next part that he dreads, the part when Arthur gets up, turns away, goes on pretending what they have is worth nothing, that he can settle down with a nice girl, have a family, be happy. Merlin closes his eyes, and thinks about the way Arthur's skin feels under his fingertips.

"I can't do this anymore," Arthur says.

Merlin swallows back the lump in his throat. "Me neither."

"I can't live without you."

"I know." _Me, too._ But Arthur knows that.

Arthur strokes his cheek, his ear, his neck. "Look at me, please," he whispers, and Merlin does. "You know I love you, right?" He sounds panicked, and very, very young.

"Yes, Arthur," Merlin whispers back. "I know that."

And he wraps his arms around him, buries his face in his neck, and lets himself cry. They lie there for a long time, and Arthur holds him, kisses him gently, strokes his hair, tells him it's all right. 

When Merlin falls asleep in his arms, Arthur stays there. He bites back his own tears, it's what he's grown used to.

***

Merlin wakes up with a horrible hangover.

"I've never been this sick in my life," he says, as he lights up a cigarette with trembling hands.

"How much did you drink?"

"You know, not much."

"Merlin, that's your lying face."

"Okay, fine, I was drunk for a week, are you happy now?"

"Why the hell would you-"

"I was sad, Arthur," Merlin interrupts, annoyed. "I was sad, I was lonely, and I was feeling guilty. I drink when I have problems. That's what I do."

"You didn't used to."

"No, I didn't. But I lost a friend."

And suddenly he's not mad anymore, not even a little bit annoyed, just tired. His head is pounding, he feels sick, and he knows he can't keep doing this, not now, not anymore.

"You know what, I'll just go. I can't deal with your bullshit right now."

"You're not going anywhere. You'll pass out on the street and choke on your own vomit."

"I'm not your fucking prisoner, Arthur." Merlin's perfectly aware that he sounds like a teenager, but that just makes him more irritated.

"Merlin, if you don't stop drinking like that, you will die!"

"It's not booze that's gonna kill me, Arthur, it's fucking HIV!"

The silence that follows is ringing with emotion. It's frightening. Merlin's heart is beating fast-fast-fast, and he wants to throw up.

"What did you say?" Arthur whispers.

"I don't know, I don't-"

"You have HIV and you didn't tell me?"

"No! I don't know, yeah, I don't know why I said that-"

"You don't know? Merlin, are you an idiot?"

"I'm not, I just- I don't know!"

"Merlin. Are you saying you might have it because you went and fucked some stranger without a condom, but you haven't bothered to get tested?"

Merlin swallows, looking away. Arthur really does know him too well, even now. 

"Yeah."

Arthur takes a deep, shaky breath, running his hands through his hair. 

"When was this," he asks, trying his best to stay calm. 

Merlin needs another fag before he can answer. Arthur waits, staring at him as he lights up.

"Um. The last time was right after we saw last."

"The last time-"

"Arthur, I'm sorry, I should have told you, but we've been using a condom, and I didn't know what to say-"

"Shut up, Merlin. Just... Shut up."

And he does, taking a long drag on his cigarette. His head is spinning, and he's glad he's sitting down.

"Why didn't you get tested?"

"I don't know. I'm scared."

"I don't care. Get tested."

"Right."

He finishes his fag in silence, and Arthur smokes one, too. He's fucking distraught, then. Arthur never smokes.

"Sorry I didn't tell you," Merlin says quietly. "I should have. I'm sorry, it was so irresponsible. But we did use a condom, so you probably have nothing to-"

"It's not me that I'm worried about, you idiot," Arthur says, and he sounds like he's about to cry.

That breaks something inside Merlin, and he bites his lip hard enough to taste blood in his mouth to keep himself from crying. There are a million things running through his head, but none of them he can say out loud. I didn't think you'd care. I didn't think you'd want me anymore. I love you so much. I'm so sorry this is where we ended up.

"Do you want me to leave?" he says at last.

"No, you idiot. I love you."

Arthur tries to make it sound like an insult, but it doesn't work. 

"You should really stop saying that if you don't mean it."

"Of course I mean it."

"Yeah." Yeah, he does. It's not helping. "Maybe that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, then?"

Merlin chews at his lower lip like it's a piece of chewing gum. He lights another cigarette. His hands still haven't stopped shaking.

"I've been trying to be fine for a long time, Arthur. I don't know how long I have it in me to still care."

"What are you talking about?"

"Every single time you and I meet, Gwaine picks up the pieces afterwards and puts me back together. He's not very good at it. See what I mean?"

"No."

"If we keep going on like this, I'm just gonna stay broken."

Arthur pulls him closer, whispers _I love you_ in his ear. 

"I know," Merlin says. "I love you, too."

He knows Arthur still doesn't understand.

They sit there like that for a while, leaning against each other, not saying a word. And then Arthur tells Merlin he needs to get lost because his girlfriend is coming over. He doesn't punch Merlin in the face or rip his guts out, but he might as well. Merlin says yeah, woudn't want her to find your whore of a lover still in your bed, and Arthur yells fuck you, you worthless piece of shit, you don't know a thing about my life, and Merlin screams yeah, I don't, I wonder whose fault that is. 

When Merlin gets home, he paints a huge, mean-looking purple dragon on the wall, listens to Nine Inch Nails, gets drunk, designs six tattoos for Gwaine. His heart is filled with painful yearning that he can't grasp, that slips through his fingers and stabs him in the back. This keeps happening to him. This keeps happening, and how.

When Gwaine gets back, Merlin fucks him bare on the kitchen table. Gwaine's arse is still wet with some other guy's spunk. The smell of a stranger's cigarettes still lingers in his hair.

He doesn't get tested. Fuck all.


End file.
